The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)

Trynne shuddered with dread as she felt the queen’s control reach out to smother Fallon’s heart. An oily sensation filled the air as the power rolled off the queen like dirty smoke. It did not come from a specific source, certainly not from the medallion twinkling in the torchlight, but exuded from the woman like Fountain magic, and it was just as powerful.

Fallon would have been struck by the full brunt of it had Trynne not been standing nearby. Instead, the magic parted and sliced to either side of them.

“Passably pretty,” Fallon answered with a hint of boredom in his voice, “but she pales in comparison to you, my lady.” He gave her a formal bow.

The queen’s eyes narrowed slightly; her nostrils flared a little.

Was she surprised by his reaction? Her eyes were eerie and otherworldly, burning with an inner darkness that made Trynne sick inside. There was another pulse of power, another rush of magic that sought to entangle Fallon. But again it sloughed off, unable to touch him.

“Was there a reason you wished to see me, my lady?” Fallon pressed, very formal and composed.

“My lady-in-waiting saw you in the courtyard today,” the queen answered, her voice a little waspish now. “So, you have joined the ranks of my guardsmen?”

“Aye, my lady,” Martin answered for him. “He beat Sir Peter with hardly any effort.”

“Sir Peter is not my best knight,” the queen said condescendingly.

“No, he is not,” Martin said. “These two new recruits are both talented swordsmen. They are going to sail with us to Dochte Abbey.

If it be your wish.”

She gave Fallon another long look, taking in his physique and presence. Her tongue darted down to her bottom lip and another jolt of magic slammed at them. It felt like the brunt of a hurricane. Trynne kept her awareness of the magic to a minimum, seeking to hide her ability from the queen and growing more anxious by the moment.

“What is your name, Sir Knight?” the queen asked in a sultry tone.

“Fionan,” he answered with a slightly mocking tone, bowing slightly. “It is my pleasure for my cousin and I to serve you.”

The queen seemed to sense some hidden banter in the words and her brows furrowed because she did not understand it. She gave him a sidelong look as she raised a cup of cider to her mouth and took a swallow. Her lips pursed. “Oh, I see now. You’ve already been claimed. I thought I sensed a kystrel about. You have one, don’t you?”

Fallon began to look uncomfortable, the corners of his eyes creasing. “Yes, my lady,” he said, his voice more subdued. Trynne’s worries increased in pitch and concern.

The queen wrinkled her nose. “I should have guessed sooner.

You are far too delicious not to have been claimed by another. I sensed the . . . resistance. Well, I won’t fight her for you. Yet.

Captain, they may join us. That would please me.” Then, with a dismissive toss of her head, they were excused.

Trynne felt a trickle of sweat down her back as Martin led them away from the queen’s company. He was scowling, but when they reached the tables laden with food, he motioned for them to take some.

“This is your supper,” he said gruffly. “Don’t drink the cider. Not if you want to keep your senses.” His eyes cut daggers at Fallon. “You enjoy teasing the flames, lad. But your gambit worked, so I won’t fault you.”

Fallon shrugged with unconcern, though Trynne noticed a bead of sweat trickling down his cheekbone. “How long before we leave for Dahomey? We must get there soon.”

“Soon, lad? By Cheshu, you’re a fine one to be giving orders.

No ship leaves for Dahomey without the queen’s consent. Their ports are all blockaded. Dieyre and his queen have moved their forces inland to lure us into his lair for the fight. We’re set to sail in three days, depending on the weather. If that suits you.” He chuffed again.

Fallon frowned with impatience and then nodded. “The sooner, the better, Martin. That is all.”

The impertinence of Fallon’s comment made Trynne stare at him in surprise.

Martin’s look of anger shriveled into mirth. “So I’m dismissed now too?” He started to chuckle to himself. “You both have guard duty tonight. I’ll send Deven to fetch you and teach you the ropes.

That is all.” He chuckled again to himself and sauntered away, shaking his head.

As soon as he was gone, Trynne nearly punched Fallon. “What were you thinking?” she asked in a low, controlled voice.

“I was thinking very quickly,” Fallon answered. He was leaning back against the table, his face to the room, his eyes darting swiftly from person to person. He reached absently for a chalice. She nearly warned him not to drink it, but he said, not looking at her, “I’m only pretending to drink it. Keep talking to me. I’m watching the room. The queen has lost interest in us for now. Good. She has a fragile sense of self. Did you notice? She’s surrounded herself with girls who are less pretty so that she dominates by appearance.” He tapped his finger on the cup. “I poked the very bruise she conceals . . . Did you feel how she turned her magic on me the moment I commented on her looks? I guessed it right.”

Trynne studied his face as he continued to peruse the crowd with a mocking look.

“Her magic didn’t affect you because I was nearby,” Trynne said.

He gave her a sidelong look. “I know that. Your father has that gift as well. But that is not the only thing that saved me.” His eyes burned into hers. “I’ve been resisting a hetaera’s magic for quite a while. I’ve learned to harden my heart. To focus my devotion to one person above all else. To shield my thoughts from entertaining affection for any other person.” He shook his head slowly and looked away. “I don’t underestimate their power. But surrendering to it is a choice. So is not surrendering to it.”

A flush of admiration rose inside her. She could not help but realize what he meant. That he still loved her, that he safeguarded those feelings against all others. The conflict within her began to rage again.

“Fallon,” she said softly, struggling with her feelings.

“I’ve gotten better at judging people. I try to read their minds by observing how they present themselves. At seeing through the disguises they use to shroud themselves. Take Martin, for another example. He used to serve a prince. A wise and able prince, he said.

He longs for that. To feel important. To serve someone he admires.”

His gaze narrowed. “Something has drawn him into serving this queen. You can see plainly he’s unhappy doing it, but there’s a connection between them. I haven’t figured it out yet.” He pretended to sip the goblet again and then took a piece of meat from the platter and tried it. “What do you think?” He chewed for a few moments, his gaze distant and brooding. “He serves her but betrays her at every opportunity.”

“But why would he do that?” Trynne asked in confusion. “Why take the risk?”

“I don’t know. We need to figure it out.”

“But how?” she pressed.



“The same way I figured out Morwenna had betrayed us all.” He took another piece of meat.

Trynne helped herself to the food and found that she was ravenous with hunger. The noise and commotion and threats were stifling, but they could not abolish her appetite completely. There was a surfeit of food, more to eat than could possibly be gorged by those attending the feast.

After a little while, another man clad in the queen’s uniform approached them. He was older than they, with long dark hair and a chin that had gone at least a day without shaving. He was handsome as well, another clue that helped Trynne see the kind of person the queen preferred to take into her service.